


The Road Less Slept In

by der_tanzer



Series: Puppy Love [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult mission, all Pavel wants to do is sleep. But Scotty needs something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Less Slept In

**Author's Note:**

> Rated R for adult content.   
> Dedicated to Oddmonster, who needed some warm Pavel love.

It wasn't so much that he was horny, Scotty told himself as he looked at the sleeping ensign in his bed. It was more than that. They'd been apart for three days while Chekov was on the surface of an uncharted planet with Spock and a team of researchers. There had been an incident, which Chekov hadn't talked much about yet, and a crewmember had been lost. No one had gotten any sleep on this mission, or even any rest beyond what could be had by hunkering under trees for a few minutes here and there, and the Pavel Chekov who stumbled off the pad in Transporter Room Two this evening was almost a stranger to Montgomery Scott.

Dirty, unshaven, hollow-eyed and asleep on his feet, Chekov still managed to wave off McCoy's order to report to sick bay. There were others who were injured—Lt. Hadley with his broken wrist, and a badly infected cut on Lt. Leslie's foot. McCoy could take care of them. Chekov was just tired, and he knew the cure for that.

The captain, always on hand to meet his returning away teams, saw Scotty's worried expression and Chekov's bone-deep exhaustion, and signaled with a jerk of his head for the engineer to go with his lover and see to him in his quarters. But as he passed by, Kirk stopped him with a hand on his arm and said quietly, "You call McCoy if you need him. And that's _your_ decision, understand? _Yours_, not his."

"Aye, Captain," he'd said and run out into the corridor in time to catch his little Pavel sliding down a wall where he'd paused to lean for a moment. Scotty wanted in that moment to pick him up and carry him to bed like the child he almost was, but he managed, with great restraint, to settle for slinging Chekov's arm across his shoulders and only half supporting him.

"Cпасибо," Chekov mumbled. Scotty had heard that word before, enough to recognize it even without the grateful tone, and replied with a soft, _it's all right, laddie_.

Chekov's quarters were closer so Scotty took him there, not at all confident that the boy would know the difference anyway. But when he tried to put Chekov down on the bed, he was met with sudden refusal.

"Het," he mumbled, shaking his head. _Nyet_, was how it sounded, and Scotty knew that word, too. He'd heard it more than just about any other over the last six months or so.

"What is it, love?"

"Shower. I am filthy, Monty."

"Aye, you are. But no one'll complain, now, will they?"

"You misunderstand. I cannot sleep with—with dirt in my bed. It will itch and I will get no rest."

Scotty doubted that; it looked to him as if his lover could sleep anywhere at all right now. Possibly even in the shower. But he wasn't a child and their relationship depended largely on Scotty never forgetting that. Or at least never letting it show when he did.

"All righ' then, Pavel. C'n I at least help? Yer not too stubborn for tha' now, are ye?"

Pavel looked up at him with sleepy yet wounded eyes, as if asking what he'd done to bring out the harsh Scottish tones when all he wanted was to not sleep in gritty sheets.

"No, Monty," he said carefully. "I would wery much like your help." His cheeks reddened under the dirt and fuzzy stubble when he heard himself say wery, but Scotty was smiling again so it must be all right. He didn't know how, he was too wery tired to puzzle it out, but it didn't matter. Scotty was easing him down into a chair and unlacing his boots, sliding them off of swollen and blistered feet, and nothing that Chekov could, at this moment, remember had ever felt quite so good.

Scotty undressed him in that chair, examining his smooth, pale body with gentle hands, almost unable to believe he was really unharmed. Hadley and Leslie were injured, Mercer was _dead_, for Christ's sweet sake, but little Pavel was here safe and sound with just a few blisters on his feet. It had the air of a miracle about it, but he supposed the lad had to have an angel on his shoulder to have gotten this far at all. Starfleet, the _Enterprise_, an officer on the bridge crew—it wasn't something a normal teenager could have accomplished all on his own. Not that his Pavel was entirely normal, but still—Scotty believed in angels. His mother had told him about them from the cradle on, and his mother's words were a law surpassing even that of Starfleet.

"Aye, but it's nice when they agree," he said to himself, lifting his naked lover as he had been unable to before, and carrying him to the shower. Chekov burrowed his head into Scotty's shoulder with a contented sigh, and in that moment he could have turned around and put the younger man to bed without protest. He was sure of it. But Pavel wanted to bathe first, and what Pavel wanted, Scotty wanted to give him.

It was both quick and awkward getting the smaller body, made rubbery with exhaustion, through the shower and bundled up in bed. When he was finished, Scotty was soaking wet and disturbingly aroused, which was unpleasant enough without McCoy dropping by. Scotty had just finished changing into his pajamas, kept here for just such occasions, when the doctor requested permission to enter. So it wasn't as embarrassing as it might have been, but he was still unhappy.

Chekov would have been, too, but he didn't really wake. Even when McCoy half-unwrapped him and ran a beeping tricorder over his body, he only stirred a bit and squeezed his eyes closed. Scotty hated seeing that, hated seeing him naked and trying to escape unwanted attention, and it was only McCoy's professional indifference that saved him being flung out the door.

"Well, are ye satisfied?" he hissed as McCoy covered Chekov and put the tricorder away.

"For now. Let him sleep as long as he wants and then feed him something soft and bland for breakfast. Oatmeal, toast, that kind of thing, and as much of it as he'll eat. Poor kid's weak as a kitten."

"Was na' there no food down there?" Scotty asked, walking with him to the door.

"Not much. Leslie tells me the kid wouldn't eat his share of what there was, anyway. He was trying to keep Mercer alive, and running on adrenaline and exuberance himself. But he's fine, Mr. Scott. Let him recharge for a day or so, and then you won't be able to keep up with him again."

"I tell you, I'm lookin' forward to it," he sighed. So like his little Pavel to give his share of the food to a dying man and say nothing about it. Ach, but he would tomorrow. When he was awake and blaming himself for not being able to save Mercer. It would spoil the poor lad's bite and sup for many a day.

As soon as the doctor was gone, Scotty secured the door and got into bed, smiling to himself when Pavel moved instinctively into his arms. And that was where the trouble started. Scotty's head knew that the boy needed to sleep, that he was weak and exhausted, and even if he was awake, he wouldn't be in his right mind. But his heart knew another truth. This was the truth of separation and reunion, of loss averted and heartbreak, so close and yet so far. There was heartbreak, yes, for someone else—for Mercer's wife up on deck twelve, and for his friends in the science labs—but not here. Scotty's heart reacted to this near tragedy as his body did, by reaching out for the sleeping man he had come to need more than anything, maybe more than the ship herself, and he longed for a connection that he couldn't have. Not now, at least. Not when poor Pavel so badly needed to rest.

And that was how Scotty found himself in the position he was in now, wide awake, his dick hard as a rock, cuddled against Pavel's back while the younger man slept unaware. He thought about getting up and jerking off in the bathroom, the simplest and most obvious solution. But he didn't just want to come, he wanted to share it with his love, who had been absent for so long and in danger of not returning at all. Mild danger, perhaps, given how young and strong and agile he was, but still—Mercer was only a few years older and just as strong, and he hadn't come back.

It was that thought that caused him to press up hard on Pavel, rubbing his cock guiltily against that firm, naked, seventeen-and-a-half-year-old ass. Pavel sighed in his sleep and pressed back, making Scotty both harder and more desperate. Slowly, needy and ashamed, he pulled back a bit, slipped his hand into his loose pajama pants and stroked himself, hoping it would be enough. But when Pavel whimpered and tried to get closer, seeking the heat of Scotty's flushed body even as he slept, the engineer knew he was kidding himself. He shoved his pants half off his thighs, pulled his shirt up so his bare belly touched Pavel's soft skin, and pressed carefully against the length of his body. The base of Scotty's cock slotted neatly between Pavel's ass cheeks, the leaking head tracing patterns of pre-come on the small of his back. He was holding his breath, terrified of crossing a line that was probably even now receding into the distance, and nearly lost it when Pavel sighed and wriggled against him, flexing his back in a manner clearly welcoming.

Scotty kissed his pale, freckled shoulders, wrapping both arms around him and holding on, rocking their bodies gently so his cock slipped and slid against Pavel's back. He moaned, low and hungry, unable to hold it in, and Pavel answered with a sound of need, his slender hand going to his own cock. It was then that Scotty realized his lover wasn't so deeply asleep as he'd thought, and he pushed Pavel's hand away, wrapping his fingers around the thick shaft and squeezing gently. Pavel gasped and moaned his name, one soft, sighing _Monty_ that really said it all.

"Aye, love, that's good," Scotty breathed against his neck, stroking him firmly as they rocked together.

"I love you," Pavel murmured. "Missed you, Monty."

"Ach, God, I missed you, too," he said, surprised at the catch in his throat, the stinging tears, the sudden rush of love and desire and _need_. His hand slid lower, rolled Pavel's sac between his fingers, drew forth a sound of need almost, but not quite, equal to his own. It was too much for Scotty's poor control and he had to jerk faster, harder, thrusting against Pavel's narrow back, selfishly taking longer strokes between those firm round cheeks and feeling them flex generously for his pleasure. "Sweet, sweet boy," he whispered. "I don' deserve ye, sweet Pavel."

"But I love you," Pavel sighed, as if that explained it all. As if he had explained it before, over and over, but never grew impatient with Scotty's slow-wittedness. And Scotty came to the sound of those words, as if that explanation were the key to his release. Pavel moaned, a high humming sound of pleasure, that shattered into a strangled cry as his own orgasm broke through him in warm waves of ecstasy and exhaustion. He panted and trembled for a moment in Scotty's arms and then was still.

"Pavel, love, are ye a'right?" he asked and was answered by a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snore.

"Yes, Monty, I am fine. Can we not sleep now?"

"Aye, in just a minute." He took off his shirt and used it to wipe them both off, tossed it away and kicked off his pants. There was no reason now to pretend that he didn't want to spend the rest of the night feeling that smooth, clean body against his own. When he finally stopped moving, Pavel turned over and slung one long leg over his hip, burrowing his face into Scotty's chest with one more happy sigh. Scotty held him tightly, afraid that to loosen his grip would mean waking up to find his wee Pavel gone, as he had woken up without him for the last three mornings. As he hoped to never wake up without him again.


End file.
